Sunday, March 29, 2009

…I threw a house party for Zach Condon and his band of gypsies.

Because I have kept poor Mustache waiting for my first post for SO LONG—not my fault, I had a thesis to write—I’ll start off with a bang and go with a “famous person I met” story. Never mind that Zach Condon is to A-Bald as that guy who plays Eric on Gossip Girl is to Jack Nicholson. Just go with it.

Back in January, word got around that Beirut would be playing a show at my sad little liberal arts college in upstate New York, and that Mr. Condon had agreed to play his band’s first reunion show at our sad little chapel on the condition that he have a backing orchestra. And since I played viola in high school and the school entertainment director is my BFFL, I got to play in the “orkestar,” both at my aforementioned school and at the band’s two BAM shows. I got my picture on Stereogum, too, and have shamelessly used this fact to my advantage when hitting on underage hipsters at parties.

Anyway, after the college show, my friend the entertainment director called to say that Beirut was looking for a place to party. “YESSSSSS” I squealed, so loudly that my housemates thought I’d been stabbed. A mad rush to the gas station ensued (because rock stars need beer, obvi), as did more squealing. Rock stars! At my house! Hot ones!

And then they all rolled in with their skinny brunette girlfriends, and the females in the room breathed a collective "goddamn it." Here are selected highlights of the evening:
1) Perrin the accordion player taking a piss inside the igloo my housemate built outside our kitchen.
2) Kelly the trumpet player introducing me to his wife as his “Kentucky friend,” because the night before we’d had a drunken conversation about bourbon and an argument about Louisville basketball vs. Kentucky basketball. (Didn’t I tell you Kentucky would eat shit, Kelly?)
3) A freshman holding a guitar attempting to introduce herself to the voice of Beirut himself, and Zach Condon just shaking his head and glaring before she could even squeak out a “hello.”

Other highlights include the time he told a bunch of us that dropping out of high school was a good idea, and repeatedly reminded us all that he was 22, and everyone who was 22 felt bad about themselves for having accomplished nothing. Oh, and then there was the time my intrepid housemate discovered that Zach Condon and I are only ONE LINK AWAY on my college makeout web, but I probs can’t write about that because of libel laws.

Moral of the story: I threw Beirut an excellent party. I gave Zach Condon multiple shots of fine whiskey. I threw out the freshman with the guitar and the other one with the ukelele so as to make him more comfortable. I bought him a bathtub full of beer. And what did he do for me in return? Paid me half the amount of money he said he would for playing at BAM. His smarmy little manager said, “Oh yes, $150 each,” and I said, “Oh yes, that’s more money than I make in two weeks at my campus job.” But then a couple of weeks ago, here comes my check in the mail, and guess what it says? $75. And then the smarmy manager says no promises were made (except they were) and that THIS IS ALL THEY CAN AFFORD TO PAY US.

Who knows if that’s true? I don’t think it is, but I have no way of knowing, so instead I’ll blame it on Zach Condon and talk shit about him on the Internet.

P.S. He’s totally gay.

Friday, March 27, 2009

...I came up with the perfect false identity.

Ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I should like to introduce the name I will use if I ever have to use a false identity like my man Chevy Chase in Fletch.
Dr. Cosby Sweaters, MD.

Saturday, March 21, 2009


If you actually want to know more about the financial shitfest, check out Matt Taibbi's latest here; as always, I will let him think for me.

Friday, March 20, 2009

...I gave in to the healing power of rage.

Like most Americans, I am apparently missing the chunk of reptilian hind-brain that makes people able to understand high-level finance, or maybe I failed to have the requisite brain damage. All I know is, back when this financial crisis/recession/depression/catastrofuck began, back when Johnny McCain and Idiot the Girl Wonder were roaming the countryside, I tried to figure out "credit default swaps" and kept thinking that I was missing something, that there was no way that people could have been that stupid, and then it turned out that, yes, they are. They are exactly that stupid. Normally, of course, I wouldn't mind- I managed to come out on top of the meltdown by not having any money in the first place; however, in between me having to compete with a bunch of laid-off i-bankers for coffee shop jobs and me having to compete with a bunch of laid-off i-bankers inside of Thunderdome, this whole economy bullshit is starting to have some repercussions for me, personally. The shitty job that I have taken to support myself while I do what I love, as it turns out, is not going to support me. I'm starting to get pissed off.
Of course, right now everyone's pissed at AIG, including either the Post or the Daily News (the two New York tabloids), one of which I swear to god had a cover that just said NOT SO FAST YOU GREEDY BASTARDS. I'm fine with this, of course, but now people are saying I should be pissed off at more people, like, uh, Tim Geithert? Or something? He's responsible? Maybe Obama himself? It's all very complicated, and a lot of people are pissed off at Obama for not doing more, perhaps forgetting that a) there is an actual TV network already devoted to talking shit about him, all of the time, b) like 70% of our country is asshole, by volume, so it's a bit difficult to do anything sweeping. I don't know, I like the guy, I thought his NCAA bracket was pretty well done and he seems to be interested in making sure that, one day, I might get to go to the dentist, so I'm cutting him some slack. I've actually just decided to be angry at the ostentatiously wealthy- just like every other day, except now I'm actually spitting instead of just doing the pucker and making a "ptooo" sound.
Today was a day of rage. Try one, every now and then.

PEE ESS DOT- Where is El Thompson?

Thursday, March 19, 2009

...I got tired of Twitter, oh so tired of Twitter.

In the interests of full disclosure, yes- I have had a Twitter account. Last summer, when the world was fresh and new and I spent all day in an office listening to muxtape, I had to set up...basically, I had to make a work blog that could automatically update from LexusNexus, which I did because I'm Web 2.0 like that bitches. Because I am Web 2.0 to the MAXX I also put a little Twitter box on the account, because moments after hearing about Twitter I already understood that the platform was only good for one thing i.e. updating office dwellers about what was being microwaved.
Allow me to explain.
My desk was right in front of the office refrigerator/microwave/sink area- what is called, sadly, a "kitchen". Any time anyone microwaved lunch- and this was literally every three minutes, since we worked in one of those Manhattan hellmouths where there's no good food for 17 blocks- every single person in the office would prarie-dog up over their cubicle walls and ask what was cooking. Because I was devoted to peak efficiency and also I was bored, I set up a Twitter account at the top of the interoffice blog that could be updated with whatever was currently being microwaved, saving precious time wasted jack-in-the-boxing up out of office chairs. Of course, I updated it maybe twice, and now it sits, abandoned. But all of that was just a set-up for me to explain that I know all the fuck about Twitter, and hearing about it on the news and from literally every person on earth took me from bemused to bored to angry so fast it was like a cartoon thermometer*. Add to this the embarrassment when El Thompson pointed out that I sort of fell for the cwalken Twitter account, which apparently is not actually Christopher Walken but merely a pitch-perfect recreation of his voice. I have it on good authority that the Shaq Twitter feed is legit, in case anyone on earth gives a shit what Shaq has to tell you in 150 characters or less. Also there's all of these congressmen writing snide little messages (the fuck I am going to use their awful "Tweet" terminology), and some court case got declared a mistrial because some idiot was like "DIRK A DIRK, I'M ON A JURY", and and everybody just stop it, okay? No more Twitter. Less or none of that. No more.

*Rejected simile: "rage erection"

...I charged Alec Baldwin's phone and drank rich people's spit wine.

That's right! I actually met the elusive A-Bald! Not only that, but I had his cellphone in my possession, charging, for two hours. You're currently reading the words of someone who could have, hypothetically, gotten Tina Fey's phone number (fun Wikipedia fact: her middle name is....Stamatina? Really?*). I didn't, of course- that would be like owning a nuclear bomb or a vial of the smallpox virus. But still, MISTER Baldwin- who was actually INTRODUCED to someone as "Alec", like they didn't know who the fuck he was- was very nice, to me, and thanked me three times. Fun real life fact- that is actually how he talks, and bobs his head. From what I saw, the difference in manner between Alec Baldwin and the fictional characters he portrays is that he doesn't shave every day when he's just Alec Baldwin.
The actual occasion was much less interesting- I intern at a film company, and somebody who may be working on a future project with Mr. Baldwin invited him to an early screening of their next film, and I was waiting outside the screening with six bottles of very nice wine and a lot of little plastic cups, to make sure that everyone involved got good and soused afterwards. I mean, it was interesting- everyone had very positive responses to the film, it was an interesting environment to be in- but it wasn't like I was there to seduce the Russian ambassador. I was the guy pouring wine. This happened, oh, a week ago but I'm only posting it now because a) I have a blog now and b) I poured wine at another event tonight, but this time I put out a tip cup first. After pouring a record seven (7) bottles of wine, my haul at the end of the night was $12 dollars; after subtracting two (2) pieces of pizza, a chocolate chip cookie to drown my sorrows and a dollar for the homeless spastic woman outside of the 14th Street subway station, I came out a sweet $3 ahead. I always knew I'd make my fortune in the film business.

*Another fun Fey fact- she's doing a voice in the next Miyazaki film? Ugh, god, this is getting kind of gross. Jesus, Tina Fey, quit pandering to, uh, me.

PEE DOT ESS DOT This is a blog where I and El Thompson talk about what we're doing instead of going to law school. It will continue until one of us goes to law school.